


Be my butterfly

by TimeLordOfManyNames



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, POV First Person, Psychology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 09:53:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3565322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimeLordOfManyNames/pseuds/TimeLordOfManyNames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because I have chosen you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be my butterfly

**Author's Note:**

> Music: «Stand by me» by MONA.

Obsession is almost love. And a strong love resembles an obsession. The ambits are too indistinct if they come roughly at the same time.

At first there's an interest — it lashes, seizes like a tip of scourge that winds round the wrist to give you a wrench and lug away.

Not like the others. Because I have chosen you.

You don't know yet what place I intend to take in your life, but the choice was made, and that means that you have nowhere to go anymore. A thin cobweb deep in the forest is easy not to notice. It lays down, enveiling your face with a silk thread, but you are not aware of its presence, thinking it's the wind. I will be the wind that weaves a cocoon around you, forcing your rebirth. I will swing it unhasty, whispering, waiting for the butterfly to spring out.

Be my butterfly, Will. Be my thoroughly fostered butterfly, not allowing other's hands, another's eyes, perceiving no one, but me.

Be the one whom I can open up to and not be rejected. Because I won't accept rejection. Unfolding my world towards the one who can look through my eyes, who can see me, I expect only "yes" — because every other answer equals to disappointment, and my disappointment costs much. Don't disappoint me, Will. Spread your wings. Be the cup that will gather itself up together again.

Because I want so. Because I have chosen you.

Butterflies are so frail. It's enough swaying fingers to break their wings, to pierce them through with a needle, nailing to the next page of my collection, to rub them to the chitin powder. But that's for the others. All of them are just an annex to the main theme, because you are my solo violin that will play forever or fall silent the latest. The score is written and laid down, the director's hands move in the air with the grace worthy of almost god.

Follow my hands, Will. Because I gave you the best part in this play.

To relieve the tedium, to see the reaction, to make a new move, to handle the lives with the puppeteer's ease — all of it grows dim in course of time, when too few butterflies flutter out, brightening the drab existence with bloody flashes. Before I decide, it's their time to enlarge my collection.

But you are a special butterfly, Will. Because I have chosen you.

So don't betray me, don't disappoint, don't make me doubt. Do what you have to.

Stay with me.

Don't compel me to break your wings.


End file.
